Saving Tommy

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"What is it?"

The girl started, jerking her gaze back to her aunt, trying to focus.

"Nothing," she replied.

More time passed as both ate, the girl's gaze always flickering to the note, to the cursive embellishment of her name. She noticed it was more sloppy this time, hurried. She continued eating until one pancake had disappeared, and inwardly sighed in relief as her aunt accepted the consumed portion as enough.

"Now, I'm going to go to the bathroom before cleaning up, and you should too after you get dressed—it will be a long ride."

The girl held her breath as the woman rose with a smile and exited the kitchen. Her gaze returned to the parchment, and before she knew it, she had walked over and snatched it from the counter, crumpling it in her grasp. She then returned to her room, dressed in an oversized denim romper, slipped on a jacket, and stuffed the parchment in the pocket. 

I'll burn it, she thought, and with a breath, returned to help her aunt clean the kitchen.

She felt alright now. Perhaps it was the activity, the distraction that forced her away from the usual ache in her chest, the impending fear. She had moments like this, where the light was welcome, where her pulse quickened and her heart rose. She would have a future, a hope... there was nothing to worry about.

Her aunt packed some Ritz crackers for the car, a blanket, a pillow—not that the drive was extremely long. It was hardly an hour. Yet ever since her aunt had accidentally walked into the girl's bedroom, stared at the change, the swell, the broken despair in her niece's eyes, she had treated the girl with extra care, like a china doll, or one of her antique teacups. The girl herself didn't know yet how she felt about her aunt's "extra care." Sometimes she hated it, sometimes she was so thankful for it that tears welled in her eyes.

The drive began with Jim Croce playing in the background, the girl cuddled on the passenger's seat with her blanket and her toes tucked in the door's side compartment. Her aunt hummed along with Croce's tenor, a little out of tune, but the girl did not care, or notice. She just stared out the window, watching the suburban people and buildings pass by like one would fast forward through a movie.

...If I could save time in a bottle,

The first thing that I'd like to do

Is to save every day 'till eternity passes away...

Time. It all came down to that, did it not? If she had not walked home from school that late, if she had not paused at that exact moment, paused when that voice—cutting through her thoughts in deep, throaty rasps... had she not paused when it asked for help...

Help.

    If she was a detached analyst or policeman, cold from a million horrors, she would laugh at the irony. But she wasn't.

    The girl sucked in air through her nose, blinking, wrapping her arms around her middle, then unwrapping rapidly, not wanting to be reminded. She pulled the blanket closer.

    Fickle time, letting the worst happen on the week her aunt was gone, letting her suffer all alone and bury herself in shame and fear as an ignorant adult sat three rooms away watching netflix. She did not know when her aunt arrived home, or when the woman finally discovered the truth. It was a blur. A long, melted sludge of a small eternity.

    But I am stronger now. I can and will fight it.

    She closed her eyes, embracing.

A ticklish sensation brushed across her cheek, and she raised her fingers to push it away, a hazy curiosity rising as white passed across her eyes. With a sigh, she felt for the object, pulling it away for her vision to focus.